


A Hogswatch Wish

by ShakespeareFreak



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Hogfather (2006)
Genre: Christmas, Hogswatch, Holiday, I think I'm funny, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShakespeareFreak/pseuds/ShakespeareFreak
Summary: It's Hogswatch Night. A letter has been left out for the Hogfather, expressing a wish for a very... interesting... holiday present.





	A Hogswatch Wish

_Dear Hogfather,_

_I have been ~~very~~ ~~somewhat~~ almost good this year. For Hogswatch I would like Mr. Jonathan Teatime. Wearing a bow on his head, please, and nothing else. I would like him to_ [something explicit]. _Then I’d like him to pin me down and_ [something even more explicit]. _Or maybe_ [something positively unnerving]. _I never really thought I liked that kind of thing, but…_

A deep, rattling sigh, like dead leaves skittering across a tomb. The bony hand slowly lowered the letter.

He was filling in for the Hogfather again this year, albeit under much more pleasant circumstances than the last time. The old fellow had simply wanted a vacation, and since he had experience…

He raised the letter again, reluctantly, and quickly skimmed the rest. It went on for five whole pages, the writing getting progressively messier as the fantasies became wilder and more improbable, so that by the end it was almost entirely illegible. This was probably a blessing. He thought he saw something on page four about a dagger being used in a very inventive way, which daggers were almost certainly not intended for. (Though the late Assassin in question might well have argued that daggers had a number of novel uses, and the only true limit was the user’s imagination.) He suddenly thought he understood why the Hogfather had wanted a vacation.

Death sighed again as he laid the letter down, resisting the urge to throw it into the fireplace. He very much wanted to wash his skeletal hands. This was the sixth letter of this kind he’d come across tonight.

He spoke a single word aloud to the silent, sleeping house. Even in the hollow, unearthly tones of the Reaper, the word was weary and exasperated.

_FANGIRLS…_


End file.
